


See, See

by phornex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Crushes, Department of Magical Education, Feelings, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Pining, Unresolved Pining, magical houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 14:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17024487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phornex/pseuds/phornex
Summary: Harry joins Draco at the Department of Magical Education, and Draco spends a few evenings processing his feelings in front of the fire.





	See, See

When Draco heard Harry Potter’s voice behind him, he took a deep breath and determinedly did not turn round. He heard Gabby, a middle-aged witch from the Department of Magical Education recruitment office, chattering away in the breathless way people often did when they came face to face with the hero of the wizarding world. 

“...And this is where the mail comes in, but Berta will deliver it to your desk, won’t you Berta? And this is Jean, and Victor, and of course you know Draco-”

Draco took a breath, and turned. “Potter,” he said cordially, nodding once. Harry smiled, and nodded back. Gabby kept talking. 

“Draco is leading the development of a new Potions syllabus. Draco, It’s Harry’s first day today! He’s joining the new Onboarding department, working on systems for transitioning children over from the Muggle education system.”

Harry held out his hand, and Draco shook it awkwardly. “Good to see you, Malfoy. I heard you were changing up the Potions syllabus… making it more accessible, is that right?”

Draco gave a polite smile in return. “Yes,” he replied, “the Potions curriculum is drastically outdated, and no good at all for people who can’t afford the equipment.” And then, because Harry was giving him that stupid thoughtful smile that made people feel like the most important person in the world, he continued, “Even if Hogwarts provides ingredients now, the kids’ll leave school never being able to afford half the stuff they learn how to make, which renders it pretty much useless. I’m hoping to—”

Gabby interrupted them. “Sorry Draco, but I’ve got to get Harry back to Minerva by three, can I drag him away?”

Harry grinned. “Glad to know I’m not the only one overhauling things around here. Should be fun to be co-conspirators on the same team this time, eh? Catch you later, Malfoy.”

And then he was gone, and Malfoy’s hands were tingling. 

*

Later that night, Draco sat in his second-favourite armchair, in the small second study of Malfoy Manor, nursing a second whisky. Around him, the silence of the house rang a familiar note against the walls. He stared into the middle distance, deep in thought. 

Draco Malfoy had learned a lot about himself after the war. Without the threat of a homicidal maniac living under his roof, he’d had time to start thinking about what the rest of his life could look like. The process of undoing years of social conditioning—the racial prejudice of his parents, the classist bullshit of the society they kept—had caused him a fair amount of introspection toward other areas of his life that he’d just taken for granted, too. It had taken him a long time to realise that he was interested in men; longer still to realise that the tension in his shoulders eased off whenever he caught a glimpse of Potter on the front page of the Daily Prophet. 

Harry Potter was extremely easy on the eyes these days. Without the threat of a homicidal maniac living inside his body (Draco still had to suppress an involuntary shudder when he thought about it), he seemed to carry himself differently, brighter and more relaxed. He had ditched Auror training after only three weeks, and travelled out to wizarding communities around Europe, giving talks and meet-and-greets, and offering practical demonstrations of family-friendly charms to younger members of his audience. Draco had rolled his eyes at first; he’d thought Potter was far past the point of seeking out more glory by now. Then he had attended a Ministry event while on assignment near Lullington Heath, and heard Potter speak. Malfoy swirled the ice in his glass as he recalled Potter’s finishing words. 

_ “The Ministry says it wants unity, but we’re not setting our community up for that. Every witch and wizard in the UK attends Hogwarts, and the first thing Hogwarts does is separate them based on personality traits. The House system is outdated, and I propose…”_ A quick pause, as murmurs filled the hall, _“...I understand that Hogwarts houses are steeped in tradition for many Wizarding families. I want to reiterate that Hogwarts is my childhood home, as much as it is yours, and nothing could shake my loyalty to such a fine institution. But it is also the childhood home of our future children. We must put the future ahead of the past. It is the only way to ensure our children do not repeat history.”_

__

Was Potter right? Draco didn’t know, but he found himself strangely impressed by Potter’s words, and by the twelve-month-long campaign Potter had launched soon afterwards, speaking to every journalist, visiting every teacher, calling in every favour. 

__

It hadn’t worked. Hogwarts’ Board of Directors would no sooner ditch the four houses than Professor Binns would give up his tenure. But it had earned Potter a job in the Department for Magical Education, and it had cemented in Malfoy’s mind a very different picture of Potter to the one he had carried for years: still trying to save the world, but this time with focus and consideration, rather than brash impulsiveness. 

__

It was incredibly attractive. 

__

Draco rested his head back and closed his eyes. And now Potter would be working at the DME. That thought was both extremely appealing and unbearably frustrating. He would see Potter every day, exchange pleasantries in the hall, make small talk while waiting for the kettle to boil. His mind drifted across possible topics of conversation, and he began to imagine what it would be like to ask Potter about his weekend. Before long, the imagined conversation slipped into a dream, and Draco fell sound asleep. 

__

Malfoy Manor quietly dimmed the lights, drew the curtains, and gently heated the second-favourite armchair.

__

*

__

One week later, Draco was struggling. He knew what he was doing to himself; all those months of therapy had given him the self-awareness to recognise when he was taking the long route through the office, or waiting until just the right time to make himself a cup of tea, or suddenly deciding to go to presentations he had no interest in, just to have an excuse to look at Potter’s face. 

__

Fucking Potter. Potter and his stupid handsome face, his easy smile, the light-hearted manner that made everybody comfortable, the earnestness and focus with which he undertook every task, the broad shoulders and thick arms, the eye contact that sometimes seemed to bore right into Draco, as if the two of them were in on some private joke. It was unbearable, and it was having a significant effect on Draco’s concentration. 

__

And his whisky reserves. 

__

Draco sat again in the second study, drink in hand, staring thoughtfully into space once more. He hadn’t felt an attraction this intense in a while, and the distraction of it was bothering him. He knew he needed to talk about it, but he had no idea who he could turn to. Pansy would roll her eyes, Blaise would make suggestive comments, Goyle would be too confused, and Theo would just be an insufferable dickhead. 

__

Draco thought about Harry’s campaign again, and briefly wondered whether the alumni of Slytherin house might have more emotional intelligence had they not spent seven formative years being taught that smug selfishness and competition were admirable primary character traits. 

__

He remembered something a Muggle therapist has said to him once, about rubber ducks. “ _Sometimes_ ,” he had said, “ _to understand something, you have to articulate it. It’s like how sometimes you can solve a problem by explaining it to somebody out loud. It doesn’t even have to be a person, it can be an inanimate object.” _

__

Draco looked up at the wall in front of him. Malfoy Manor was hardly inanimate; in fact, Draco strongly suspected it was listening. But at least it couldn’t talk back. 

__

“Okay,” he said, experimentally. “Here goes.”

__

He waited for something from the house—a slammed door, a flicker of candles, a creak in the timber. Nothing. So much for dramatic flair. 

__

“Alright. Here are the facts. I am attracted to Harry Potter. Yes, that one. No, I’m not wasting away, I won’t die if I can’t have him. I just… desperately want to kiss him. And it’s distracting. To be honest, I’m mostly annoyed about the distraction. I can’t get any work done.”

__

The Manor did not respond, but this time, Draco had the creeping feeling that it was quietly judging him. He frowned, and stood up to pace in front of the fireplace.

__

“No, I don’t intend to do anything about it. I’m not asking Harry Potter out on a date, that would be madness.” Something the Malfoys were very good at was compartmentalising emotions, and Draco had already taken every ounce of hope he felt about Potter as a romantic interest and taped it into a box in his mind labelled DO NOT OPEN. 

__

“Madness,” he repeated, then for absolute clarity, he said, “I am not thinking about how to... kiss Potter. It’s not on the agenda. I just want to be able to exist around him, without all this...” he waved his hands around his head, “...fog. You know?”

__

He stood for a moment, the question hanging in the air. Of course the house didn’t know. It was a house. Carefully, he reached out and touched the wall. He immediately felt something. Comforted, perhaps. Connected. He felt a tingle, from his fingertips right back to the middle of his spine. He didn’t know if the effect was magic or Muggle. 

__

He ran his hand over the cold stone. It had taken months to restore the house. There was the physical damage: the result of having a dozen frantic, antagonistic Death Eaters living, meeting and arguing in the house. The second study had remained mostly untouched, like most of the areas of the house Draco now spent his time in, but there was still a faded blast mark on the wall, a remnant of a spell cast in anger. Then there was the magical damage: every brick of the house had been soaked in Dark Magic, and Draco had spent weeks hunting down and disposing of every bewitched or cursed item in the house. Without them, the Dark Magic began to loosen its grip, and although the process of handling so many Dark items at once had cost Draco a few weeks of sanity, he felt a sense of gratitude from the Manor. 

__

Finally, there was the emotional damage. The house was healed, but Draco did not know whether he would ever fully reconcile himself to what had happened within its walls. His head still swam when he walked past the drawing room, where the Death Eater meetings had taken place. He had moved into a bedroom in the west wing of the Manor, because in his old room, in the dark depths of the night, he would lie awake, frozen with fear, convinced that Nagini had returned to slide back and forth outside his bedroom door. In all parts of the house, at all times of the day, he would hear the house’s memories; screams and pleas and cruel laughter echoing through the halls. 

__

Draco took a breath to steady himself. Perhaps talking to the house was too familiar. It was too close, too complex, too filled with memories of people Draco hated. He hated Voldemort for everything. He hated every Death Eater who had traipsed through his house, leered at him, talked about him like he wasn’t there. He hated Snape for failing to protect him. He hated his parents for abandoning him. Sometimes he hated himself for having been part of it, but he was getting better at that. 

__

His hands shook, and the ice in his glass tinkled. He looked down, into his whisky, and remembered why he was standing with his hand against the cold stone wall. Potter. An image of Potter’s smile danced across Draco’s vision, and he felt a tug at the corners of his mouth. A warmth pooled in the pit of his chest, and he lowered himself gently back into his chair, staring at his drink. 

__

Hating people was painful. It occurred to Draco that this attraction to Potter was the first time in a long time that he had felt overwhelmingly good about somebody. He couldn’t act on it - he was nowhere near ready to make that leap of faith - but perhaps for now, it would be enough to bask in the glow of it, to know that there was somebody left who could make him feel like this. 

__

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rare example of a fic that has a huge chunk of self-projection, and I’m not sorry about it. I found it in my drafts from about 6 months ago, when I was in the throes of an intense office crush, and although it's nothing like what I normally read or write, I was so pleased to find a little record of that crush that I had to tidy it up and publish it. I've always enjoyed crushes; it's so good to feel good about people, even without hope or agenda. Now I’m going to go to a Christmas office party and watch the aforementioned crush from a safe distance all night.


End file.
